Helen Oyeyemi

Helen Oyeyemi

Helen Oyeyemi is the author of four novels, most recently White is for Witching, which won a 2010 Somerset Maugham Award, and Mr Fox.

Sandra Taylor
 
Stuart Evers
Stuart Evers
Helen Oyeyemi
Helen Oyeyemi
Helen Oyeyemi
 

A man I used to like once told me he was still in love with everyone he’d ever loved. I didn’t comment, but that remark enraged me to the bone. Nothing so straightforward as jealousy, it was more of an ideological thing, I think. A romantic totalitarianism that would, in my case, be dropped at the first hint of actual violence. However, bear with me; if true faithfulness in love requires the renunciation of former partners, isn’t it simply a very strict kind of fidelity, to put all old loves out of the world altogether?

helen-minus
helen-minus commented
Friday 2nd Dec 2011 04:41
ljspillane - very pleasing to hear that you were getting along alright with mr fox - hope you challenged him with pencils and underlined quotes from other books. thank you, georgemcking, and a happy december to you. Muse - many thanks to you for reading and listening to it in just the way that you did. really, very many thanks. i haven't heard all of the audiobook yet, but i love Carole Boyd's reading of the first story, 'dr lustucru' - it's perfect.
Muse
Muse commented
Monday 28th Nov 2011 09:36
I have to say that I fell in love with this book almost from the first page, always loving these kind of stories linked to animals and animal transformations. Plus, a real soft spot for foxes and so that last story just brought me to joyful tears. It was so playful and yet with depth and exquisite prose. Magical realism is such a rich genre. I also obtained its audio version and for the last week have listened to it on my MP3 player tucked under my pillow before sleep. Carole Boyd does such a wonderful job with the various voices and accents. Anyway, just writing up for my book blog (and will cross-post to Amazon and Goodreads).
James Long
 
Mary Foxe came by the other day – the last person on earth I was expecting to see. I’d have tidied up if I’d known she was coming. I’d have combed my hair, I’d have shaved. At least I was wearing a suit; I strive for a sense of professionalism. I was sitting in my study, writing badly, just making words on the page, waiting for something good to come through, some sentence I could keep. It was taking longer that day than it usually did, but I didn’t mind. The windows were open. I was sort of listening to something by Glazunov; there’s a symphony of his you can’t listen to with the windows closed, you just can’t. Well I guess you could, but you’d get agitated and run at the walls. Maybe that’s just me.